


Crazy Love

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, College, Complete, Conspiracy Theories, Divorce, F/M, Lesbian Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Matthew and Katya conspire to get their single fathers on a date. The catch? Both men are paranoid conspiracy theorists!





	1. Lost In Space

Matthew had always been aware to some degree his father was strange. On camping trips, Alfred might have his young son in his lap, pointing out constellations. It was a sacred and rare time, framed by woodsy smells and pine trees. Sometimes he would whisper little things in young Matthew's ear.

_Which star has alien life?_

_Which galaxy had more binary systems?_

_What do you think is in between the lights?_

It was just ideas back then. Mom, Marianne to her friends, had been closer then. Dad was more stable, more attached to the earth. Being a young boy, Matthew was unaware there was a fissure in his parent's relationship. He learned french culture from his five star chef Mother. He learned geography and astrophysics from his former NASA engineer father.

The fissure grew. It started with small disagreements and separated beds. “This is just a temporary thing.” They would promise in turns. “We're good and solid, don't you worry Matthew.” Dad would quote. He believed his words, grounded in their assurance. Like unaware stars, the drift dragged on.

It was two unnaturally quiet years in the house once filled with happy chatter. Dad and Mom were having trouble maintaining healthy dinner chatter, but that was okay. Mom was working extra late those days. The separated beds had evolved to separate rooms, with dad losing his study. Dad would abide by his sayings, his ideals of stability. Mom repeated them with less conviction, looking away in ashen expression. Still they said those words, and Matthew believed them.

_We're good and solid, don't you worry Matthew._

It was around grade eight that things were obvious. The fissure was not a crack, or a canyon, or a sea. The drifting disconnection of his parents was the Atlantic ocean. The damage was eroding and glaring tearing his parents apart silently. Just like the real USA and France, there was no hope in hell of recovery.

Matthew hadn't known this then. He was a naive child that grew up on nursery rhymes and family oriented cartoons. He tried, in his own misguided way, to push them back together. It was like battering at stone cliffs with bare fists. You could only walk away profoundly more injured then you started. Still, Dad tried his best to keep the nuclear family running.

_We're good and solid, don't you worry Matthew._

The last straw was grade ten. Dad had lost his job at Boeing months after Matthew came out as Asexual. There was a lot to deal with. It was in this perfect storm that the first lightning bolt let loose.

Mom, morose and guilty, admitted to cheating on Dad with another man. The arguments were thunderous and violent. Objects were thrown. German, Russian, English, and French flew around the highly educated house in loud explosions. The dead silence of before was shattered in razor shards. There was no subject that was safe from fighting.

Dad's restraint broke along with his fragile vision of a nuclear family. He became obsessed with spacial anomalies. He doled out serious cash to get a better telescope, sifting through the night skies for aliens. He began to talk of extraterrestrial life to strangers.

Mom was having none of it, devoting her time to her three seafood restaurants more than ever. She was never home anymore. When she was around, she looked lost and unhappy. A cigarette was never far away from her person. Still Dad was sure things would improve. He held on to his abused and scratched optimism. He always said the words, but only he believed them.

_We're good and solid, don't you worry Matthew._

Three years later, it was the end. Marianne divorced Alfred quietly at the kitchen table, over a bottle of wine. There was no more arguments, reasoning, or negotiations. The house was quieter than ever as they silently signed one stack of papers after another.

Mom would have Matthew on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, when her restaurants and new lover needed her the least. Dad would raise his son the rest of the time, his newer computer engineer job having far less hours.

More than once, Dad would claim he was taking a nap and shuffle off to his room. Inside he could always be heard crying from the depths of his soul. Matthew, almost ready to attend university by now, would crawl under the covers and hold the man that used to be his rock. Quietly, sweetly, the loving son would say the words. They were needed more than ever.

_We're good and solid, don't you worry Dad._


	2. Mad In The Forest

Katya's first memories were of ancient forest. Prickly trees were so tall she thought they held back heaven. She had dim memories of her Mama, but they were faceless without sound. That was expected, considering Mama died in child birth. Little sister Natalia would never know her life giver. It was just as well. Papa picked up the burden of protecting them from a cold world. He carried the task like a powerful giant.

Papa was a sturdy rock of a parent. He raised them eight months of the year in towns at humble apartments. They went to school, sang, and lived like any other brood. Women came and went, trying to lure Papa into their arms. Ivan, sturdy and dependable, always resisted like a valiant knight.

Both Ivan's darling daughters assumed he was fending off gold diggers. After all, he made a living panning for gold up in the Ural mountains. Four months of the year, the entire family moved North to seek their fortune. They battled hills, mosquitoes, rapids, and random freezing rain. They hardened themselves to any challenge, stubborn even by Russian standards. They never made millions, but they made enough enjoy themselves.

In this unique isolated lifestyle, it never occurred to the girls how strange their Papa was. Surely all adults believed in forest monsters, fairies, and inter-dimensional ghosts. It must have been normal for other parents to draw salt circles of protection around children's beds at night.

Secondary School was the first time the girls were shaken enough to see the truth. The brutal sea of teasing was a harsh conditioner for life beyond Papa's defences. It didn't matter of there was woodland fairies plotting to steal and consume your dreams. Issues of spiritual appeasement had to be set aside.

There was hormones, homework, and school events to worry about. More and more, the isolated family life they knew drifted farther away.

It wasn't until Katya was preparing for school abroad that her father's condition was clear. Ivan, their dear Papa, was crushingly lonely for physical companionship.

Last year had been the last year both girls would join him in up in the mountains. They were starting to develop their own tastes and lives. Natalia was seriously pursuing a ballerina career in St. Petersburg. Katya was chasing an Veterinary degree in America soon, specializing in exotic animals. Depending on how things went in the new country, she would leave Russia behind forever.

It was the second last day with Papa before he left for the Urals. Age was starting to lighten his hair and carve thin wrinkles in his face. Still, he was a fierce male. He stood just over six feet, fit from years of living off the land. He was always clad in flannels, leather, or denim. There was never less than three weapons on his person. It was a vast understatement to say he was paranoid.

“Katyusha, my love bug. Must you go so far away? I'll miss you up at the mine site.” He appealed for the twelfth time today.

“I'm sorry Papa, but this could be my only chance for international travel.” Katya repeated dryly, folding clothes with slow care. It was the last of her packing to be done. She was wrapped in a tight hug from behind. His hummed words could be felt through a broad chest.

“Who's my flower?” he asked, voice deep and resonating.

“Is this your grand plan? To hug me until I can't leave?” She chuckled.

“Is it working?” Papa murmured, letting go and ruffling her hair.

“No.”

Once more left alone, Katya was almost finished packing. This time she could finally get out the door without... _Damn it_. Papa dropped a foul smelling plastic of goods on her quilted bed cover. “You'll need these to fight off American demons. I did lots of research, and I had a shaman bless the tools.”

Why was Papa so embarrassing? Katya wanted to go through a checkpoint or airport just one time and not take an hour! To entertain him, she gestured at the stinking bag of goods. “Tell me about the tools.” She spoke flatly, not interested in the slightest He took twenty minutes, and it was exhausting to tolerate.

American freedom was soon at hand.

00000

The Carlson College of Veterinary Medicine was a physical version of it's web page. It was another north American brick campus, with another giant grass lawn. How glamorous the facilities were didn't matter. The only thing that matter was it was in Oregon. Oregon was very far away from Russia. Katya loved her father, and in earlier years would do anything to please him.

Not now, not anymore. For one thing, Papa was beyond social rescue. He did crazy things, he said crazy things. There was nothing left that Katya could say to cover his proverbial ass. He rejected any women his daughters set up for dates with intentional malice. He would spout nonsense about bone stealing witches, Sasquatches, and nightmare demons. On more than one occasion, dates would run away cursing his madness. Papa would watch his latest victim flee from the door frame, staring on like a gargoyle. You could see his childish moment of victory in a cruel twitch of a smile.

The man was hopeless, and Katya had new concerns. Her survival was the most pressing one. Katya was not normal. She defiantly chopped her hair short, and wore utilitarian clothing. Such an act was pure rebellion in beauty ruled Russia. It was the land of high heels, dresses, and stratosphere level standards. These standards went both ways. Men were expected to be cleaned up with decent taste for almost any occasion.

It was a social and ethical prison Katya needed to escape. Papa had the woods to run to, but the beautiful daughter wanted more. She wanted a career in a civilized world, and a car of her own, and – Mid thought, the jet lagged student had to pause as she explored her new campus. The place was teeming with people, one day before first class.

Tall people, people of all the colours, men, women... so many women. Some were in strapless tops and it was just enough to make Katya's head spin. She was first raised in a remote village near Papa's gold panning claim. Only in more recent years had she been tucked away in the St. Petersburg apartment, studying for her future. She was still unused to such an open society.

_Yet, there was so many lovely women._

Katya had to focus. Despite severe jet lag, she had classes in eighteen hours. That was less than a day to locate a room. She hadn't been entirely dense in her planning. She had five rooms for rent all lined up via prepaid phone.

The first room was already gone upon arrival. This was a disappointing possibility she knew might happen. The second room was in all honesty, too far away from campus. The rent was also terrifyingly high. The third room for rent was only minutes from campus, with it's own bathroom. It was a shame, since the five other males living in the co-op arrangement stared intently at Katya's curves and ample chest.

The fourth room had been the most challenging to decline. It was barely affordable, but clean and well decorated. The problem was the other students moving in. Graceful females, Literal Athenas and Artemises prancing across her vision. They giggled, they swayed like legendary Greek sirens in Katya's grasp. Dear God. She could barely breathe or function in this co-op filled with sexy people. She almost burned alive from blush trying to escape. 

Katya needed a nice neutral place to live were she could manage to study. At the very least, she needed a place not stuffed to the rafters with smoking hot people. She could maybe sleep and function in those scenarios. Long story short, she needed a neutral clean roommate. It was an impossible task.

It was the last rental room of the day. If this didn't work out, Katya would have to live out of a motel for a few days. With trepidation, she knocked on the door of the older home. A meek wheaten blonde answered the door. The very androgynous male was awash was freckles, wearing form skewing flannel.

“Oh, hello, you must be... E-katrina? Ekaterina?” the stranger greeted, about as threatening a baby lamb.

“Da, Ya... I am called that. You can call me Katya. Is much easier.” She replied, stumbling from Russian to English in a hurry. Her English was very functional. She still wasn't used to needing it so often.

Katya was given a very brief tour of all five rooms in the place. The cozy home was certainly small, though roomy for three students. The tour ended where it started, beside the old futon couch in the living room. Another more obvious male was seated, his hair impossibly spiked. There was a giant pet rabbit on his lap, sprawled as it rested.

“So... welcome Katya. I'm Matthew. This is my boyfriend Lars. We just have a few things to go over if you want to stay here.” The kindly host went on, settling in the shoulder crook of his partner. It was such an openly expressive move. Katya was honestly shocked the couple felt safe enough to do so. Gays back home were wary and quiet, rarely spotted in the wild.

“Do you do drugs? We're not against them, but the harder stuff is not cool.” The more masculine half of the pair, Lars, demanded. 

“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. All the questions were easy and common sense. They were clearly open minded folks that didn't want to get stabbed in their sleep. This place seemed like a perfect fit. Only the last question caught her off guard.

Matthew yawned mid interview, as was fair. It was now almost midnight and Katya was ready to fall over. “Sorry. Um. Last question. Are you any orientation we need to know about, or a pronouns thing? We just like to check.”

Katya squinted in confusion. Her brain was so done doing English today. “What?”

“You know, lesbian or transgender or... whatever, that we need to know.”

Oh. Oh...  _that_ . “Da, I like the women.” She responded bluntly. The exhausted blonde was finished with formalities after being awake more then twenty hours. “If is problem, I can keep my...  _tendencies_ to myself.” She offered after a moment in clunky English.

Matthew was damn near stumbling over his words to obtain cavity level sweetness. “No, it's fine. We want this house to be a open safe place. I'm asexual and Lars is a transman, so we understand the whole discrimination thing. But, the room is yours, if you like. You seem nice.”

It was all she needed to hear. The rent money was dropped on the table in an instant. Katya's tired carcass dropped on the quilted covers of a newly acquired bed, asleep in a few minutes. It had taken three flights, six years of gold panning in mosquito hell, and studying English since she was twelve. Finally, at last, Katya was free of culturally oppressive Russia.

She hoped this was finally home.


	3. Making Connections

Katya had the best roommates you could ask for. Almost no major disagreements popped up in three months. They were clean, fairly quiet, and gave her space. There was little to distinguish Lars from the rest of humanity. He was cheap at times, which was expected of any student. He put too much sugar in his coffee, but this was a lesser detail. He loved his pet bunny though. The size of a smallish but stocky dog, “Miffy” only had the best.

It was wise to never show this creature to Papa. Knowing the rugged man's ways, he would shoot the giant pet and eat it over a back yard fire. Matthew and Lars would surely evict her if the prized bunny of the house was slow roasted over a fire.

Matthew was another calibre of human. Humble and kind beyond measure, he was secretly intelligent. The man was running academic circles around Katya. For once, this only helped the struggling Russian student. She copied off his notes often when he wasn't looking. Katya was definitely passing on her own merit. Matthew wasn't simply passing, but waltzing through this course.

If Katya was not lesbian as the day was bright, there was no doubt they would date. Hell, in Russia they would have easily agreed to a fake partnership while actually seeing other people. That was a common practice, almost acceptable with more vexed parents.

Put in basic terms, Matthew was easy to trust, to talk with. His patience was seen being tested once more on a comfortable weekend. Lars and Matthew were washing and drying dishes in tandem. Katya was finished vacuuming the rugs. Everyone did a job, as not to cause cleaning spurred resentment. Bunnies were shitty pets, in Katya's silent opinion. Their poops were small and dry, but constant. She would have taken to madness months ago if she didn't tackle the problem herself.

Matthew's phone went off at exactly dinner time, like it did every other Sunday. Lars sighed when his boyfriend gave him a look. “No, go, it's fine. There's a few cups left.” 

“Thank you.” Matthew whispered, drying his hands rapidly and taking the call. “Dad, hey... How's it going?”

The call was winding and stupidly empty sounding on Matthew's side. It always was. Matthew was obviously being polite by not putting the parent on speaker phone and walking off. Sure enough, he caved to convenience and munched on chips. The legendarily crazy father was now on speaker phone.

“Dad, I put you on speaker phone, so could you not...” Matthew began, but it was all too late. He seemed deaf as he munched snack food, staring at the ceiling.

“... I will be an angel, Matthew. Besides, I think I finally found a great picture of Bigfoot. It's blurry as all hell but the shape is there. I was camping at a new spot, and I tried pears instead of apples. They were gone by morning.”

The voice was charismatic, but undeniably out there. Beneath all the crazy, there was a tragic loneliness that shadowed every syllable. To Katya's trained ears, this man had obviously scraped up every little topic to sustain talking this long. She knew this, because her Papa had been terribly lonely for years. He milked every conversation, dragged out every event.

An idea came to Katya like a brilliant bolt of lightning. She waited for the call to end, unable to stop a smile. Matthew eventually hung up, looking exhausted. Lars was now beside his partner, stealing chips.

“He's really going off the deep end without you.” Lars commented between crunching bites.

“He needs a friend.” Matthew agreed, looking overwhelmed by the issue.

“I... I have an idea, if I'm welcome to share it.” Katya offered, unable to contain herself. She adored playing match maker since forever. She was going to make the very best village babushka some day.

“Kat, you made us cranberry cheese cake. You can have all the ideas.” Lars assured her, with Matthew in nodding agreement.

Tenting fingers in scheming glee only a match maker could cherish, Katya leaned forward in her chair. “My Papa is coming to visit me in three weeks. I think he could be an excellent friend for your... unique parent.”

“No. Dad is beyond the dating sphere. He just came out of a divorce, he's upset about all that. There's the alien stuff and the animal bone collections... There is no one on this planet that won't run out on that level of... It's... Who would be into a guy that genuinely believes the president is a lizard in disguise?”

It was official in Katya's mind. Matthew and her were kin, survivors of the utmost bizarre childhoods. This was fate calling, true friendship for Papa. Maybe if he turned out to be gay, the stoic parent might get laid too. It was a win for everyone.

“How crazy is your dad?” Lars asked, looking genuinely curious.

Katya, for once, was proud to have such a collection of moments. “He sacrifices chickens on New Years Eve for luck. He thinks the pope is Satan wearing human skin. Papa won't eat beef on Thursdays because he was cursed by a self proclaimed witch while at a steakhouse. Don't you see? They would be perfect as little friends!”

Lars whistled, impressed. “You know. She has a point. This could work.”

“It's crazy.” Matthew denied, crossing his sweater clad arms.

“They're crazy.” Lars countered him easily. Katya gave Matthew begging cute expressions nearby.

Under social pressure, the somewhat meek male caved. He threw up his arms in frustration. “Fine! Fine! Let's start this train wreck. Let's get my dad's feelings stomped on again after a divorce that was only a year ago! This seems like a flipping great idea!”

“It won't be that bad. That one lady left in tears last month. He told her she was going to die while dissected by aliens. It can't get worst than that.” Lars reasoned. His own motivations were transparent and basic. The occasionally possessive partner was getting tired of Matthew's father calling almost four times a week.

Katya would likely be just as resentful in his position. “If it doesn't work, I'll never bring it up again.” she promised cutely.

Matthew gave both of them a chilly glare. “If my Dad is hurt in any of this... I will be very upset!” With a final huff, he stomped off to his room. It was as intimidating as a puppy growling.

Katya held her tongue until he was out of the area. “Even when he's angry, he is adorable.”

“You haven't seen him playing hockey yet.” Lars chuckled.


	4. Love Fever

Ivan didn't know what to expect when he visited The USA. He had heard how inferior the Americans were as a child in the USSR. When everything collapsed into abysmal chaos, most of the family fled to the USA. The disliked power was suddenly this magic place were dreams and wishes came true.

Entire towns fled in the late 1990's. Ivan was left behind with two children out of wedlock, the mother having died during the second birth. It wasn't that Irina was a bad person. Ivan was very drunk and looking for an outlet on both conception occasions. There was no love or connection. They were a terrible couple right to her unfortunate death.

In all of these struggles, he survived. He panned for gold, foraged, fought, and stole. It all amounted to both his babies in semi-prestigious schools from other countries. With Natalia training to be a ballerina in Lithuania, Ivan was startlingly alone. It was so much more terrible than being sexually frustrated for a decade.

With his children away, He was plunged into total isolation. Dark thought occurred to him as he was hunting small game for fur up in the Urals. He could fall, starve, or get sick in the wilderness, and no one would ever know. His body would be eaten by animals, never to be found. It was a humbling thought that kept him up for hours, plaguing his otherwise pleasurable routines.

Ivan didn't want to die alone in the woods, panning for precious metal. He wanted to die peacefully in bed, sharing a home with another. It was December when Ivan emerged from the wilderness. He hadn't listened to his eldest daughter, too greedy for his own good. He went back for another round of money making in the deadly woods of winter. With frostbite scars to show his folly, He almost froze to death in his return journey.

None of Ivan's razor sharp survival instincts could save him now. He was in the hostile environment of American Airport. The place was massive, with no food in sight. He found the exit, but he couldn't read it for shit. He had only picked up conversational English in chunks, with a spotty education from the start.

He was supposed to meet Katya by the exit, but there lie the problem. There was two exits. As people edged around the rugged Russian, he struggled to pull meaning from pamphlets. With still no Katya to be found, this is the worst day Ivan had since –

“Papa! Over here!” Katya called out, taller than most of the surging crowds. The day was once more tolerable.

Bubbling with frantic need, he scrambled after his precious baby. Pushing people aside rudely, He held Katya and squeezed tightly. “My Katyusha, my blossom! I was so foolish to mine without you!” He confessed openly in his accented Russian.

His daughter only gasped for air, slapping him on the shoulder. He chuckled and released her, giving a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you so much! I brought bags of things to share... but the airport security wouldn't let me bring them. Since when are animal heads contraband? I wasn't going to eat them!”

“I'm sure it was a misunderstanding.” Katya replied absently, towing them along to the right exit. “The holiday crowds are worse than I thought.” She yelled over several others. Ivan could only blink owlishly and be tugged along. They were soon at the parking lot, standing before a car. It wasn't just any car, but a very Russian car. It wasn't Slavic in it's brand, but in it's spirit.

Every door was a different colour. The main body was dented. It coughed and sputtered, alive in spite of reality's laws. “The car is perfect.” Ivan hummed in approval.

“I suppose.” Katya agreed idly. Both Slavs, tall and well build, squished into the back seat. This was nothing to say of the driver. The tall man up front was scrunched like them, smoking as he drove. Beside him, was another male in pale blue.

“Papa, This is Lars. That's his boyfriend, Matthew. They're the boys I'm sharing a house with.”

_Boyfriend._

As if anyone was foolish to openly advertise they were homosexual. Such stupid action got you killed, or maimed. Buried silently, unmarked graves in forests... never telling their secrets. He was swatted on the shoulder. “What!” he spat in Russian.

“You were doing a face Papa. Don't do that.” Katya sussed, pinching him on the cheek. Ivan rolled his eyes, happy to go along as she played Mama bear. Katya was very much the mothering type. “Thank you for ride. Is good car.” Ivan thanked his hosts properly, with the best English grammar he could manage.

“No problem. I bought it off my drug dealer. A real steal.” Lars replied easily, tapping his cigarette out the window. Conversation was sparse as green landscape ripped by. It quickly transferred to concrete walkways and vinyl sided houses. The car parked in from of a house that would pass as prime realty in rural Russia. The roof was new enough, and that was all that mattered.

“This has been home for the last few months Papa. I must give you a tour!” Katya cheered, opening the door for her father. Ivan knew a scheme when he saw one, that evil glint in his daughters eyes. She was a ruthless matchmaker, had been for years. She naively believed there was love for everyone. Ivan didn't have the heart to crush her fantasy world.

“Katya. You set up date.” Ivan grumbled in English, calling her out as he left the vehicle. Everyone froze up, caught. Ah, so this was a group effort.

“No... It's... We just thought you would like a little tour of town. Matthew's dad is from here and he knows Russian, so you guys could chat and see... things.” Katya weaseled out of this blind date, like all the other attempts to hook him up.

Actually finding a person outside of Russia that spoke Russian was rare though. Ivan did want to see whatever there was to see. After all, this was his very first trip outside of his half abandoned hometown. He squinted in suspicion at all three young adults. “This only tour, not date?” He asked again.

“Uh, you bet.” Lars and Matthew spoke in unison, giving thumbs up.

Ivan didn't know the two men well enough discern lies. Perhaps they were always this high strung. “Okay. I need clean up first.” Ivan needed a shower something awful. Being on planes thirteen hours after escaping a deadly forest wasn't good for anyone.

Ivan showered luxuriously, scrubbing bubbles through his untrimmed beard. Admittedly, he had stopped taking care of himself once the girls left. Natalia was the first to run to civilization. She was much happier there, so Ivan didn't judge.

Katya was the last and most surprising. Ivan had really thought his eldest love bird would be by his side forever. She was an excellent survivalist and worker. It was a shock to learn she bent to capitalist desires. Still, Ivan had no right to stop her, setting her free.

Dressed in anything clean he happened to bring, Ivan evaluated his reflection. He certainly looked wild. His clean polo shirt and slacks were defied by ashen blonde beard and long hair. A touch of grey was starting to streak both, silvery curls in fawn.

Without asking first, Ivan rummaged about for a pair of scissors. Five minutes later his beard was respectably trimmed. A pack of women's hair elastics labelled with the name 'Amber' was found next. Combining long locks with his fingers, Ivan managed to lash most of it back into a ponytail.

Katya knocked on the door for the seventh time. “Papa, are you done yet?”

Ivan opened the door with flourish, then paled and pulled his daughter inside. He slammed the door and glared at her. He had every right to, since she lied. Katya lied, because a handsome man Ivan's age was chatting with the two roommates. Only a fleeting glimpse was needed. A jawline like that, tanned and littered with freckles...

“You _did_ set me up. I knew it! How many times have I told you I'm fine alone!” Ivan hissed in Russian, absolutely furious.

“Papa it's not... He just needs a friend. He just got divorced, he's lonely! I'm not asking you to marry him! Talk, hang out, nothing serious. At least try it until I'm out of classes. If you hate him that much, I'll play mini putt with you later.”

Ivan huffed a little at how childish his own kid was making him look. “Fine. For mini putt.” He sulked, finally leaving the bathroom. There the stranger was, so infuriatingly handsome and tan. Curse that button nose, and sapphire eyes.

“You must be Mr. Braginsky, It's a pleasure to meet to you. I am called Mr. Jones.” A hand was offered, Ivan shook it. It was firm and warm, incredibly distracting. This man, like all Americans, was a great smile user. An otherwise fleeting and meaningless express was gorgeous with Hollywood white teeth.

Ivan was numbly aware this pretty man was talking to him, or at him. Sound wasn't registering entirely as it should. The Russian was not sure if he was in cultural shock, love, or very compressed sexual frustration. It didn't matter which cause was to blame. It all resulted in Ivan looking at Mr. Jones with profound hunger.

It was going to be very difficult to hate this man enough that Ivan's daughter would play mini putt.


	5. Contagious Affection

Alfred wasn't sure what to expect when his son asked him to come over. These days, the anxious father was certain his only child was avoiding him. After all, why would he not? Alfred certainly had made an ass of himself in that small family diner two months ago. It wasn't his fault the waiter had a high probability of being an alien lizard man in disguise. Matthew was ruffled by the argument that followed Alfred's accusations. He was just trying to protect people! Why did they already think he was the crazy one?

Boy did Matthew need his help though. Alfred had been told he would need all his NASA career training and his diplomacy skills. A very important Russian wanted to see the best Oregon had to offer, and it was his first time in the USA ever. Apparently this Mr. Braginsky fellow didn't leave when the USSR ended, knowing nothing about other cultures.

Alfred suspected he was being led on to some scheme upon arrival. If this stranger was that important, he would have a hotel room or his own car. The father was foolish to get dressed up so nice, donning his best navy coloured suit. Looking this pretty took effort damn it!

Lars was delaying him with inane talk about the weather. Matthew was stalling his dad by putting out snacks. The boys were obviously up to something. On top of all that, Matthew's female roommate was trying to get someone to stop hogging the bathroom.

Finally, mystery man emerged from the bathroom. Alfred waited for the guy to approach, meeting the description of his expected guest. Matthew really skimped on the details. There was the blazing fact that this Russian was rugged incarnate. There wasn't an speck of him that was soft from leisure. His eyes were sharp violet that burned with intelligence. The domestic polo shirt and slacks did nothing to hide the fact this man could snap Alfred apart like a twig.

That was kinda hot.

Eagerly, Alfred spoke up in fluent Russian. He used to be the middle man between NASA and Roscosmos from the launch control room. He was, before funding was slashed to ribbons. “You must be Mr. Braginsky, It's a pleasure to meet to you. I am called Mr. Jones.” A hand was offered, the stranger shook it. It was firm and warm, a manly man's greeting. This guy got it, he understood!

All he got in response was a blank hungry stare. It didn't seem violent, but it wasn't the attention he was used to getting. Nervous already, Alfred's smile dropped slightly. “So... Let's start the tour?”

“Y-yes. Let's start.” The enigmatic Mr. Braginsky stammered, ending a long handshake. He might be putting up a front, to appear strong. Russians were prone to doing that. Alfred would know, He worked against them for a few years. Working with them after 1991 was far more interesting.

Driving this dude around was immediately unbearable. Mr. Braginsky was raking Alfred with those devilish eyes constantly, barely talking. Alfred could feel it like a physical manifestation, and it pissed him off. Only five minutes from the first tourist spot, he pulled the car over.

“Listen _you_. I'm not liking this eye rapey thing you're doing one bit. This tour is over unless you stop invading my personal space... or I get paid in money.”

The rugged guy seemed shocked he had been caught. He looked away, mumbling. “You should drop me off at my daughter's house. I'll be rotten company.”

“Daughter?” Alfred wondered openly. No one told him anything.

“Katya, she's a matchmaker of the worst kind. I couldn't tell you how many dates she set me up on.”

Alfred listened intently, scanning his own memories. Katya... the female roommate build like a goddamn wrestler. Right. Her. It made sense that this male perfume commercial on legs was her father. This was... a date? That was impossible. Alfred wasn't gay!

“This... this is not a date. I'm not gay, and I'm proud red blooded American. I own like twelve guns, I can't be gay.” Alfred was fumbling his own words as he repeated his patriotic heritage, anxiety riddling him again.

“I... I certainly am not gay. I'm also strong, and proud of my heritage. I fought a bear and won. Did I tell you I fought a bear and won?” The other man agreed instantly, looking a little sweaty.

“Y-yeah. We are both manly as fuck men. Straight, and stuff. So uh...” Alfred coughed, feeling a little hot under the collar. It was probably nerves, since Alfred had not done diplomatic things in years. “Um... you fought a bear? That must have been scary.”

The tight lipped Russian finally opened up, and their tourism romp continued. Ivan had lots to say, but he was a good listener too. This was a surprising revelation that sucked in all of Alfred's sparse attention. They ended up driving past intended destinations several times.

“So, you trap animals for fur, pan for gold, and cut wood because... geez. You sure want most rugged man of the year award.” Alfred joked mid tour. It didn't really matter because they were totally lost. In all their chatter, they took the wrong highway... for an hour. They were now in the middle of nowhere, munching on fries from a chip truck.

“I do what I must. I am not a man of science that knows two languages.” Ivan answered humbly, eating another fry.

“I know four languages, thank you very much. It's not about that though. If the apocalypse came, I'd be fucked once I ran out of bullets. You could fight off a horde of zombies in body armour and be fine!” Alfred sighed, sipping his soda, and looked to blue winter skies. The snow was light, but it would be worse soon enough. It was miracle they found a chip truck this late in the year.

“This was not a mistake.” Mr. Braginsky hummed, genuinely happy despite a lack of smile. It was a bizarre cultural thing Alfred never got used to.

“I don't know why you'd be rotten company. You're really interesting, Mr. Braginsky.” The praise slipped out of Alfred like a spell. He couldn't stop vomiting nice things about this bear wrestling stranger. He had only known the guy three hours and he was acting like a moron.

“Please, call me Ivan.” It was more than a polite offering, it felt like... _friendship_. Dear god, it had been years since Alfred had friends. Everyone thought he went insane after he lost his job. Stress from his marriage, losing his dream job, Matthew coming out... It had been a triple threat of stress overload that year. Alfred could admit that much.

“You can call me Alfred, or Alfie, or... whatever works.” Alfred stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his body. Ivan stood with him, finished his food.

“Well Alfred, we will not be going anywhere unless you have extra tires.” Ivan gestured to the parked black corolla, It's front wheel flat.

“Fuck. I don't know how to change a tire.” Alfred cursed, dumping both their trash in a bin.

Ivan puffed out his chest in pride. “I do.”

Alfred's heart pattered strangely as he watched the next twelve minutes. Ivan loosening the bolts, hoisting the car... Alfred was sick is all. He was coming down with the flu, or he was thrown off by the weather. Needing distraction from his distraction, Alfred noticed a tiny pocket book. Ivan had been writing in it earlier. It lay on the ground now, having escaped a pocket.

With stealthy moves, Alfred swiped it and read like a fiend. It was full of theories, ideas, and wild claims. Chiefly among the pages, was an obsession with violent shapeshifters and spirits. The last page was the most touching. It was a pros and cons list about Alfred.

_Pros:_

  * _Is handsome_

  * _Knows Russian_

  * _Owns 12 guns_

  * _Smells like oranges_

_Cons:_

  * _Knows too much_

  * _Too handsome_

  * _Owns 12 guns_

_Conclusion: Might be government spy sent to kill me. Will investigate over nice dinner._

Alfred's head was spinning. Ivan had noticed his orange scented shampoo. Why was that important? Why was Alfred so damn red? Why was his brain shorting so badly? Maybe he was losing it.

Suddenly, he was face to face with a furious Ivan. The tiny book was ripped out of his hands with malice. The Russian leaned in, expression murderous. “How much did you read?”

“Just the few last pages, I swear. I'm not a spy, I can prove it to you. I believe you, I believe everything I saw.” Alfred whispered with urgency, distinctly aware he was pinned to his own car. Ivan was so big, and rugged. It was as intimidating as being held at gun point, but infinitely sexier.

Ivan's eyes widened in surprise at his own aggression, and Alfred's submission. “I... I'm sorry. I can't let anyone else see that book. Your life is in danger already.” He backed off, also blushing richly.

Feeling weak in the knees, Alfred struggled to be so composed. Ivan was a believer. Their type of people were so rare in a world of government oppression and residual hate. “I'll tell you everything, I swear.” He whispered, struggling to act normal. It took a few minutes to ground himself, as Ivan resumed standard colour.

“Maybe I should drive.” Ivan offered, looking rather sorry for himself.

“Don't be stupid. You can't read the road signs.” Alfred chuckled, helping load up the tools and car jack.

Ivan smiled, and it was good.


	6. Chill Bro

“... and he really likes mini putt, so we played a few rounds of that. But later we saw someone that might be a lizard person. We followed them around a while but they weren't a lizard person. Ivan splashed holy water on them, and they didn't set on fire. Then they were gonna call the cops, so we booked it and went out for ice cream. That was when –”

“Dad, breathe.” Matthew chided his over excited parent. Dad had been wound like a spring for three weeks now. He was always a bouncy rubber ball of energy around Mr. Braginsky. The two loony parents were totally in sync, spouting wild new theories in tandem.

Beyond that, they had been spotted in the classic displays of affection. Cuddling while watching TV, washing dishes together, and plenty of other sugary domestic tasks. Matthew had to admit, Katya was a great matchmaker.

Dad had not been this happy... _ever_. It took ten solid minutes to get him off the phone this time. Matthew was genuinely happy for the backwards couple. They were mostly harmless together.

Lars was still in his Music Theory class, so Matthew stole one of his fluffy sweaters. The garment was put on with care, Lars's scent noted as it slid over Matthew's nose. Next, Miffy was grabbed off the floor for cuddles. The giant pet was nearing fifteen pounds in weight, normal for it's species. All set up with a cold beer, Matthew turned on an episode of Cold Case Killers.

“Who do you think did it Miffy? The mail man? The jealous ex-husband?” He whispered to the fluffy creature mid episode. Getting behind the ear scratches, Miffy had no opinions. She lay placid in his arms, relaxed with floppy posture. So cute!

Matthew's phone went off, currently buzzing away in vibrate mode. The ringtone mode scared the bunny, so it was off for now. He fished it out of a pocket once more. “Eh?” He answered lazily. Maybe he was loose and breezy from some of Lars's personal pot stash.

“Matvey, please, you have to help me. Papa is doing something crazy!” Katya's thickly accented voice pierced through the phone. The state of alarm was lost on a very chill Matthew. He only hummed in affirmation, petting the bunny. Miffy approved of the motion, wiggling it's cute bunny nose.

“He's going on about loving your Papa, and taking down the demon pope with him. He has wedding rings. He's bought wedding rings. He can't spell your Papa's whole name. They nothing about each other! It's barely been three weeks! He can't see how insane this all is. He won't listen to reason!”

The frantic noises were more annoying than anything. Dad was a fast mover himself, He only knew Mom two months. They were married in the first place because he knocked her up. That in itself was generally a bad sign. “They're adults just like us, Kat. Let 'em make mistakes.” Matthew sighed, too relaxed to budge.

“You are useless under the weed plant! Where is the tall one?” Her grip on English slang was still hilarious.

“Lars is at school.”

“Fuck!” The line went dead. Matthew stared at the device a moment. He hadn't pressed the screen hard enough to hang up by accident. Maybe the battery was dying or acting up? Katya was not one for hanging up on people. Oh well. A mystery for later, he supposed. 

The real mystery of importance was who the killer in this TV episode was. Miffy positioned her draping body in agreement, trapping Matthew's leg for the remainder of the show.


	7. A Terminal Case

Two days ago, Alfred answered his door. It was the start of a weekend. Since Alfred worked less than full time hours, this meant three days of not much to do. Matthew had his own active school life that Alfred didn't feel welcome to intrude upon. It was a relief and a loneliness to not be so close.

Ever since his son came out as asexual but also bisexual, Alfred had no idea out to proceed. How could Matthew not like sex? How did he even know? Either way, it was a very new generation issue Alfred couldn't grasp. He settled for giving his confusing offspring all the space required to... play monopoly, or whatever Lars seemed to like so much. Lars was... that was another bag of confusion, seeing as he used to be Amber. Even breaching the subject in conversation seemed to piss off Matthew and Lars.

This left Alfred friendless with nothing but his alien books for three days. Hours into researching how cellphone signals might be mind control platforms, the doorbell rang. It was Ivan, groomed and dressed handsomely. There was roses and vodka and kisses. Piles of kisses, enough to drown a man.

It was clear early on Ivan wanted Alfred for a snack. The American father was uncertain he could return such intense affection. He certainly didn't feel less straight than the last forty two years of his life. Still, it would be a crime to not try. Ivan was an almost perfect specimen of humanity, with all shared interests.

That was why Alfred let a love drunk Ivan in his humble house two days ago. The problem was memory recollection. Alfred blacked out early on from vodka strong enough to strip chemicals. Ivan vastly over estimated his companion's tolerance.

Alfred woke slowly, feeling like absolute shit. Moving hurt, breathing was difficult. Even opening his eyes was a painful chore. With a wince, he took in his environment.

He was cuddled under fluffy covers in his own bed. It was a warm safe sensation, With a snoozing Ivan draping legs and arms over him. Alfred had never been the little spoon in his entire life. In this loss of control, he felt safe. It was a feeling he hadn't felt since Marianne lost his trust.

Risking nips of hurt, Alfred snuggled close to Ivan. Not entirely sure how to do such things with males, he pressed a chaste kiss to that burly chest. It was an alien sensation, silver hairs tickling his face. He moved a hand to touch the newer texture, right hand free to do so. In the middle of testing if this was real, a critical detail was noted.

There was a wedding ring on his right hand. It was an honest to god wedding ring, if on the wrong side. Alfred wheezed a little as he struggled to deal with things. All he could recall was a lovesick Ivan, and shots, and a lot of words and...

Oh no. Somewhere between blurry gay sex and ordering Chinese food, the M word had occurred. Never mind that Alfred had no idea how gay stuff worked. It was going the wrong way up one way streets many times, but the details were not clear. Alfred had also been devastated by his divorce. He might well say anything while stripped free of social filters. Vodka was designed for such things.

He had to clear the air with Ivan about all this _now_. This was all a huge drunk misunderstanding. Poking the rugged man in the cheek, Alfred croaked with dry throat. “Hey. Stinky. We gotta talk.” He ordered in Russian.

Ivan snored softly, dead to the world.

Alfred shook him on a shoulder. It was burly even in rest, soft muscle to squeeze! “Listen to me, you adorable thug. You have to wake up and listen to me.”

Ivan groaned and crack open an eye. “Not so loud...”

“I only have one volume setting! We need to talk about this, buddy.” Alfred gestured emphatically to the wedding bands they both wore.

“Oh. My husband.” Ivan purred, closing his eyes. He smiled widely, a creature of pure contentment. He then sat up swiftly, and manhandled Alfred like produce. The squawking sore man was flipped on his belly with brute effort yet gentle care. Alfred blushed, unable to deny the sense of safety. It was something he hadn't felt in long time.

“No distractions you! You can't get people drunk and marry them –” Alfred dropped his protests, gently massaged into pure submission. Ivan was a freakin' hands wizard.

“I might be out of practice. I haven't had anyone in a long time.” Ivan spoke softly, his vulnerability plain as his fitness. Alfred's aching lower back was kneaded to happy dough. “Does that feel nice?”

Okay. They would chat after Alfred's paradise massage. He was a moaning mess at the end, always a noisy man. “Christ that was nice.” He admitted openly, fully distracted from his goal.

“I'm going to make you pancakes. After last night, you earned chocolate chip!” Ivan promised with a wink as he pulled on black briefs.

“I'm holding you to that you goddamn animal.” Alfred called out after him, then cringed. He could not stop his face from vomiting cheesy words about Ivan. It was making this all complicated and more difficult to end.

Matthew could save him!

Thirty minutes later, Alfred's socially intuitive son arrived to bail him out. Ivan and Alfred were clean enough while dressed, peacefully munching on pancakes. Matthew opened the front door, dusting snow of his toque as he closed it. The snow was wild today, letting in a chilly breeze. “Dad! You said this was an emergency!”

“You can have some pancakes.” Alfred started off on a good note, adept at bribing his son to do anything. “... and you have to use your word skills to explain to this stubborn ass why... Um. _This_ doesn't count, because I was drunk.” The normally reliable father figure stammered and crumbled, unable to sound authoritative at all. He gestured to his wedding ring, twisting it nervously on his finger.

“Whoa.” Matthew mumbled, “I don't think I'm qualified for this, Dad.”

“You gotta explain to him, this is ridiculous.” Alfred insisted desperately.

“I love Alfred, why big problem?” Ivan put his two cents in for once, English jagged.

Matthew sweated nervously. “Well uh, you see...” He then took a bite of chocolate chip pancakes. He was chewing his food awfully slow.

“You just can't, It's so rushed! We barely know each other!” Alfred objected in panic, paling. 

“Is bull shit! All my... All...” Ivan flipped over to Russian in pure frustration, but Alfred stayed in English for his offspring's consideration. The American also couldn't Russian for shit when upset. Ivan fumed in more eloquent native words. “We're both known for fast marriages! Why is this any different from your bitch ex-wife, or my departed Irina?”

“You can't talk about her like that!” Alfred yelled in outrage, unable to stand comfortably due to his sex broken ass.

“Why do you defend her still? She cheated on you! She divorced you! She treated you like shit!” Ivan accused, slamming his fist on the table. Matthew startled, intimidated by the thunderstorm of dual language fighting. He only knew two of Alfred's languages after all.

“She tried! We both tried! Marriage is an equal partnership!” Alfred shot back, now in drunk Runglish. It was a backwards non-language common at NASA, since they had to work with Roscosmos so often. The work slang had stuck with Alfred, a hybrid of Russian and English.

“Uh guys, this isn't English anymore.” Matthew nearly whispered, silently sliding away Alfred's pancakes away. No one noticed.

“That bitch hurt you! Why aren't you angry? You're so smart and cute, and you're right about the pyramids, and the Aztec alien invasion plans! Yet you act like the divorce was your fault! She is the enemy, not your falsely perceived failures!” Ivan would not relent, angry in his retribution of the absent ex-wife. He stood now over Alfred, rather red faced. It was a split struggle between punching the guy for exerting dominance, and admiring such imposing muscles. Wow, Alfred was off the rails today.

Alfred's voice broke, along with a dam of feeling locked away all year. It was a torrent of things he could barely vocalize, making his voice crack. “It was my fault okay! It was my fault! I didn't... I wasn't there for Marianne! I didn't... I...”

The broken man couldn't say more, body shuddering with grief. Alfred was shattered to pieces when Marianne cheated on him, and the pain had only crystallized over the years. Sensing this, Ivan quieted and pulled his chair closer. He held Alfred with a gentle side hug. “It's not your fault.”

“It is. It is, and I can't go back. I don't want to go back. I don't want... I...” Alfred sniffled and cried with a mess of sound, not making much sense. In this span of time, Ivan's pancakes went missing. No one noticed yet. Matthew was gone to rooms unseen.

Ivan soothed the weeping man, his grey T-shirt a sacrifice to tears. “Alfred?” The upset companion wiped his snotty nose, no longer burying a tear stained expression in beefy pecs. Alfred looked at Ivan in prompting. Ivan grinned and kissed him softly, speaking after. “I love you.”

“Don't... Don't you dare.” Alfred whispered in proper Russian, frightened in the glossy depths of his eyes.

“You are worthy of love.” Ivan spoke of this like it was fact, law of the highest court. In Alfred's mangled emotional state, he had trouble grasping this statement.

“I'm not... You don't know...” Alfred hiccuped, clinging to Ivan for emotional life support.

“I'm going to love you so much, until you realize it in your skin and bones.” The bizarre choice of words was decidedly powerful.

“Bones don't feel things. They're bone.” Alfred countered while sniffling, chuckling weakly. He detached to blow his nose on breakfast napkins, dabbing his eyes dry.

Ivan kissed him more, relentless. “I'm going to make you breakfast, and fuck you into the mattress. I'm going to love you until there's nothing of her left. I won't stop until you're my happy sunflower!”

“That's not... You can't just... You can't give me false hope. It'll kill me. I can't take another... another lie.” Alfred confessed, failing to push the force of nature away.

“There is nothing false about me.” Ivan promised with deathly seriousness. He stared into Alfred's soul with an enigmatic gaze. For unknown reasons, this silly Russian creature had witnessed his very core, and liked what he saw. Alfred didn't know how long Ivan would stay before he realized his grave mistake.

In this irrational moment, Alfred's heart pattered and his brain shorted out a little. He had not been treated so well in... well, a _decade_. It was overwhelming like a drug, blocking out all common sense.

“F-fine. A month.”

“What?” Ivan asked, confused.

“I'll give this drunk marriage thing a month. If it doesn't work, we end it right there.” Alfred offered warily, summoning the last of his mental defences. They were all washed away with a gentle ruffling of his hair, honey blonde carded through strong fingers.

“I accept these terms.” Ivan whispered sweetly.

Alfred was so fucked.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't trick people into marriage while they're drunk. It's not nice. The ending is weak, but this concept can't really be stretched any farther. I probably should have ended it cleaner last chapter.


End file.
